The corridor was colder the deeper they went—a kind of forgotten cold, like the air hadn't been disturbed in years. Not abandoned, just… unacknowledged.
The overhead lights flickered with a sickly yellow hue, casting warped shadows over dangling wires and scorched warning signs that had long since stopped warning anyone. Rust trailed down the wall like veins in the skin of a dying beast.
Lucas walked a half step ahead, not fast, not slow—just with purpose. The kind of pace people used when they were following breadcrumbs they weren't sure were real.
Ava followed, her system casting silent pings. No movement. No heat. But silence didn't mean safety. Silence was often the best camouflage.
"You going to tell me what this is about?" she asked, voice low.
Lucas didn't look back. "No. Not until I'm sure."
"Sure about what?"
He glanced at her—just once.
And that single glance said everything: not fear, not annoyance—suspicion.
Not aimed at her. At something else.
